Everything was rather quiet in the hundred acre wood.
The trees whispered to each other as the wind rustled
their leaves. Under a large oak tree, there lived Pooh
bear. From inside Pooh's house, there came a steady
bang...bang... bang!, that was making his honey jars
rattle on the sideboard. The light came through the
window, and in the evening sun Pooh raised the axe
once more and brought it down on the tattered remains
of Christopher Robin.
"Why...won't... he...fit..." puffed Pooh to himself as
the axe came down once more.
There was a small pile of earth, and a hole next to
it, which Pooh had hidden with his favourite rug.
Christopher Robin, selfish prat that he was, didn't
quite fit in the hole Pooh had dug, so instead of
making it wider he had decided to hack Christopher
Robin's legs off.
"A far more sensible idea", thought Pooh, and hummed a
little song to himself as he cut the last tendon and
rammed the rest of the body in the hole, finally
covering it up with the rug.
"Always too bossy", thought Pooh, "Always too bossy,
always grabbing me by the paw and saying 'Come on Pooh
lets have an adventure' or 'Pooh you are silly!' in
that affected cutesy spoilt brat voice, and his stupid
little shorts - bastard!"
Pooh had waited all afternoon for Christopher Robin to
come round, humming a little tuneless song to himself
whilst gazing blankly into the fire and fondling the
oaken handle of the axe. When C.R. had finally turned
up, squeaking in his child-actor voice "Come on Pooh!
Open Up!", Pooh had answered the door normal as
anything, talked about the weather, and then went to
the cupboard and fetched the axe. While C.R. had sat
there, prattling on about what a silly bear Pooh was
and how he had very little brain (which wound Pooh up
no end) Pooh had raised the axe high and brought it
down with a satisfying thud on Christopher Robin's
skull, cleaving it virtually in two, with just some
muscle fibre in place to keep the pieces upright, and
freezing C.R's eyes wide in horror that Pooh, lovable
Pooh, could do such a thing! Pooh giggled a little and
wiped some saliva from his mouth with a shaky paw.
Then Pooh, calm as anything, had mopped up the blood,
washed the axe and begun to dig the hole.
Piglet had wondered why Pooh had not called for him
that morning, to have his tea and biscuits, and so he
decided to visit Pooh instead. He admired the evening
sun, blood red, and listened to the birds singing.
Pooh watched him get nearer and nearer, and plugged in
the drill.
Piglet had no time to realise what had happened - the
drill pierced his skull, sending a beautiful fountain
of blood all over Pooh's orange hide. He rubbed the
blood in and all over himself, licking, licking,
always licking. Then he pulled Piglet inside and put
him in the cupboard. The syringe lay on the sideboard,
and Pooh picked it up, paws shaking and sweating, and
filled it full of solution of the funny white powder
that had been given to him by a strangely spaced-out
Rabbit. It was a strange effect at first, and Pooh
thought he had seen many strange things, but then
experienced a euphoric feeling of power. It made him
irritable, and C.R. and Piglet had everything that was
coming to them, no doubt at all. When night had fully
fallen, Pooh dragged the bodies out and buried them in
a makeshift grave.
"Adios, dear 'friends'", Pooh giggled, "Things are
going to change around the 100-acre wood now I'm in
charge" he laughed hysterically and went indoors.
The next day Tigger and Roo made their way happily to
Pooh's house, to see if he knew where C.R. and Piglet
were, as no-one had seen them since yesterday. They
were sure Pooh would know, as he had had tea with
Piglet yesterday and was meant to be playing
Pooh-sticks with C.R. in the morning.
When they reached Pooh's house the door was wide open
and Pooh was nowhere to be seen. Tigger and Roo looked
inside Pooh's house and noticed a large hole in Pooh's
floor and a notice was stuck on the wall with a large
blob of congealing honey "OWT CHAGIG THE DRAGGN"
(spelling had never been one of Pooh's strong points).
"That's odd", though Tigger, "there are no dragons in
the 100-acre wood only heffalumps. What is that silly
bear up to now?"
Not even Tigger would have imagined what Pooh was up
to at that moment. That morning Pooh had woken with a
splitting headache and a rather snotty nose. So he had
taken a large dose of the white powder and a little
while later had a brilliant idea! He left the house
with a container marked insecticide in big red
letters. He took the container and went to Eeyore's
favourite patch of thistles.
"This will serve that manic depressive donkey right"
laughed Pooh aloud, "always cheating at Pooh-sticks,
cheats never prosper", Pooh said to himself.
Then he hid behind a tree to watch the unsuspecting
Eeyore eat himself to death - sheer poetic justice
thought Pooh as he dumped the nearly dead body of
Eeyore in the same grave as C.R. and Piglet.
"Shouldn't cheat should you?", shouted Pooh as
Eeyore's eyes stared with disbelief. "You're lucky I
didn't chop you up into little bits and feed you to
Tigger!", laughed Pooh manically, before he covered
the makeshift grave over.
Pooh didn't return to the house until dinner time as
he was totally spaced out all morning. So when he
returned to his house he was in an awful mood and all
he needed to make him absolutely mad was the sight of
Tigger and Roo bouncing up and down outside his house
singing "bouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, the
wonderful....".
"'Wonderful'?", thought Pooh aloud, "My foot, you'd
think the writer of this s**t story could think up
better lyrics for a song than that, and to think, they
released the sound-track album on cassette and CD; a
lot of people are going to get ripped off." This
lightened Pooh's mood somewhat, but the respite was
brief.
"What was that you said?", asked Roo.
"God does he never stop asking pathetic questions?",
Pooh thought furiously. "I'm going to have to deal
with these prats as well. Is there no-one in this
place with intelligence apart from me?" Pooh asked
despairingly."
Pooh felt himself extremely lucky as Roo had to go
home for his afternoon sleep and that left Tigger at
his mercy. Even better, Tigger suggested that himself
and Pooh go and play Pooh-sticks; Pooh had smiled
slyly as an idea formed in his overactive brain, and
agreed.
"What an opportunity", Pooh whispered to himself as he
followed the innocent Tigger to the bridge.
Once on the bridge, and the rather pointless game of
Pooh-sticks was under way, Pooh thought he'd much
rather push his stick up Tigger's arse, rather than
throwing it into the stream. Tigger was leaning over
the side of the bridge looking for his stick. So he
did not see Pooh's wide horrific grin as he
outstretched his arms and moved toward Tigger with the
intent of pushing the stupid cat into the stream.
"Cats hate water, tee hee, he'll drown."
There was a loud splash as Tigger hit the water and
started to struggle as his head was covered by water,
he gulped and choked. Pooh was holding on to the rail
of the bridge and jumping up and down with excitement
and was joyously shouting at the drowning Tigger.
"Why?", spluttered Tigger as he slowly started to turn
blue with the cold, which Pooh found hysterical, after
all a blue Tigger? How absolutely silly.
"I'll tell you why you bastard", screamed Pooh, "It
serves you right, hiding behind doors and jumping out,
and scaring the s**t out of people." Tigger did not
hear Pooh's answer as he was already floating
downstream face down in the water, dead. "Good
riddance", laughed Pooh, and looked at his watch.
"Still time to get that little dick-head Roo before he
wakes up."
Pooh sneaked to the sleeping form of Roo's mum and saw
Roo's ear poking out of her pouch.
"Now I've got you, you little git", Pooh thought,
smiling, as he threaded a needle with extra strong
cotton. He was jolly grateful for Piglet's sewing
lessons now, because he would be able to sew up Roo
nice and tightly, so he would not be able to get out
and his mum would not be able to rescue him. So very
slowly and carefully Pooh began to sew Roo into his
pouch and thereby suffocating the annoying idiotic
twit. After the deed was done Pooh made his way back
to his house wondering how Roo's mum would take the
death of Roo. Badly, hoped Pooh, as he began to cough
uncontrollably and felt general nausea overcome him.
By the time Pooh got home he had puked up several
times and was very desperate for some more of the
white solution. He trembled as he picked up the
syringe and gave himself the remaining amount. An
awfully large amount, one might say, for a small
little bear like Pooh. In fact too much, Pooh died of
an overdose, but he died with a smile on his face: he
was dreaming that he was the only teddy bear made with
a willy and dreamed how he surprised Eeyore one day -
but that's a story for another day.
THE END